Chapter 7 · Rules in the Ash

"Neither," I said.

My lip was split. Copper flooded my tongue, hot and sharp, while his thumb bore into the pulse point inside my wrist. He could feel it hammering. Fast. Wild. I couldn't stop it.

Dante Ferrara didn't flinch. He stayed heavy above me.

The lace of my ruined wedding dress hung in shreds off one shoulder. The suite was freezing against my bare skin, but Dante wasn't. He was raw heat, black linen, and a heartbeat thudding against my ribs so slow he might as well have owned the clock.

He probably did.

"Neither," he grated out, low and rough. "That's off the table, bride."

"Then take what you came for and get it over with." My voice cracked right down the middle. God, I hated that. "You've got the signature. You put the ring on my finger. Take it."

His gaze dropped to my mouth. To the cut. His jaw clenched hard enough to crack bone.

Then he let go of my wrists.

Just like that.

His weight peeled away, just an inch, and the chill rushed in anywhere his skin had been.